


Am I My Brother's Keeper?

by Merianon



Series: My Brother [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I mean as much as he was in the show), (blink and you'll miss them), Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Light Angst, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, Michael-centric, One Shot, Prophet Chuck Shurley, Season 5 AU, Season 5 Finale, Smidge of Violence at the End, some spoilers for season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merianon/pseuds/Merianon
Summary: [ Not for the first time did Michael recall Cain's words to God when He asked where Abel was. Five words that had repeated themselves over and over Michael's head for the past year: "Am I my brother's keeper?" ]Given a message from God relaying only two words, Michael now has a choice to make, even if he doesn't realize what it fully means at first.Season 5 AU, One-Shot.





	Am I My Brother's Keeper?

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted from fanfiction.net under the same name. Originally written in Aug 2016; last edited Feb 2019.
> 
> Enjoy.

_Then the Lord said to Cain, "Where is your brother Abel?"_

_"I don't know," he replied. "Am I my brother's keeper?"_

—Genesis 4:9

* * *

 

Michael looked up from his hand – _not his hand, the youngest, half-brother Winchester's hand –_ to the door of the house in front of him. He was hidden from sight. None (especially not a human) would be able to even notice him, standing as he was on the sidewalk next to the street where several cars were lined against the curb.

At the sound of laughter emanating from the house, Michael questioned why he was here again. It was okay to ask why he was here because he had came on his own violation. Knowing the reason he had come was another matter entirely. Why was he standing in front of John and Mary Winchester's home in the year of 1983?

Perhaps the reason was because Dean was still only four years old at this time – such a pure, innocent, already righteous soul shining next to his mother and father's. Or maybe it was because tonight Azazel would feed his demon blood to the baby Sam Winchester.

Michael tried not to think about the obvious parallels between himself and Dean and then Lucifer and Sam. Sam and Dean were _the_ true vessels, and the angels (and some of the demons) had set up the human brothers' lives to mimic Michael and Lucifer's. Michael truly did wish it didn't have to be this way.

A very, very long time ago – before the creation of man or even the other angels or Gabriel or Raphael – it had only been him, Lucifer, his Father and the Darkness. Michael had been the one to raise Lucifer, not all that dissimilar to the way Dean had raised Sam. Michael had loved – _still loved –_ Lucifer from the moment their Father created the little Morning Star.

And it had all been perfect. Even if Michael had spent hours on end away to keep Heaven running smoothly— Even if Michael hadn't been able to spend all the time he wanted with Lucifer and Raphael and Gabriel and his Father— Even if he had to watch the Mark on Lucifer's arm taint his grace the slightest shade darker every time Lucifer made an outburst… It had been their paradise.

Because they had each other, and they had been family. And nothing was going to change that – until it did.

Lucifer _had_ to cross the line. It wasn't the questioning of His orders that pushed their Father to have Michael cast Lucifer out of Heaven. It wasn't tempting Adam and Eve into eating the fruit from the tree of knowledge. It was when Lucifer had ripped Lilith apart, stripping her of her humanity and creating the first demon.

And Lucifer just _had_ to make it worse. He just had to start a war over the humans. A war between Heaven and Hell. So many had died, the lifeless remains of angels and demons alike strewn across the battlefields. When their Father had seen enough, He created the Cage, and once more Michael had to cast Lucifer down.

_"They don't deserve His love_ _—_ _let alone ours!" Lucifer yelled at him. "Why can't you see that?!"_

_Michael gripped Lucifer by the throat, holding him over the looming abyss with one hand – his sword in the other. "Why couldn't you just do as you were told?!" Michael shouted back over the commotion from the waging battle around them. "Why did you have to destroy Paradise?!"_

_"_ They _did that! All I did was point in the right direction," Lucifer hissed._

_Michael shook his head at his brother, ignoring the daggers impaling themselves into the core of his grace and the stinging of his eyes. "You're not him. I don't recognize you anymore. You're not the Lucifer I knew. You're the monster that took his place."_

_With that, Michael let go, watching as Lucifer's eyes widened at the sudden loss of anything keeping him from falling. And as Lucifer fell, Michael had to close his eyes. He fell to his knees as the clamor around him became white noise and died away – the angels driving the demons back to Hell and killing the stragglers._

_Tears trickling down his face, Michael stared at the filled space that had been the hol_ _e_ _where he cast Lucifer into the Cage. The shockwave of power that echoed about them, signaling their Father's sealing of the Cage, had washed over Michael, and the realization of what he had just done – what he had said – hit him with the weight of the Earth, Heaven and Hell combined._

Michael blinked, coming out of the memories, when the door to the house opened. He watched as Mary came out with Dean holding her hand. He followed the two humans all the way to the park, where the mother and child played for a good hour.

" 'scuse me, sir."

Michael's eyes snapped down to the boy who had called his attention. He shouldn't have been able to see Michael, and yet… "Is there something you need?"

Dean tilted his head at the question. "You jus' look fam- famili-"

"Familiar?" Michael provided the word to his struggling true vessel. The boy nodded, and the archangel was marginally surprised the child even knew what the word meant.

"Well, I can't say these versions of ourselves have met before."

The child frowned, confusion clear on his face. "Wha' do ya mean?"

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, little one." Michael inwardly cringed at his choice of words. He hadn't used that term since…

"Really? 'Cause Mom says that that means I should be _concerned_ ," Dean replied, drawing out the last word as if he was making sure that he was pronouncing it correctly. Which, Michael thought to himself, he probably was.

The archangel raised an eyebrow as the boy had lifted an arm to point at Mary, who was sitting on a park bench talking with another woman. "Hasn't your mother told you not to talk to strangers?"

Dean shuffled his feet, looking down. "Well, it's not like you're gonna hurt me, are ya?"

Michael was taken aback at the question. "Of course not."

"Then I got nothin' to worry 'bout," he said with a toothy grin.

Something in the back of Michael's mind nudged him to put himself eye-level with Dean – kneeling, in a way. "Dean, your whole world is about to change, but I need you to do something for me, okay?"

The boy hesitantly nodded, having tensed when Michael said his name without Dean ever introducing himself.

"Be _brave_ , Dean," Michael told him with a small smile. He gestured for Dean to go run back to his mother, which the boy did, and Michael's smile faded as he watched Mary draw Dean close to her when he reached her.

If only it were so simple to get the older Dean to listen to him like this one had. Though, Michael supposed it would have helped if Zachariah hadn't used _certain means_ to try to get Dean to say 'yes'. It had pissed Michael off to no end when he had learned to what extent Zachariah had gone. Raphael didn't have that kind of permission to give. Especially not when it involved Michael and Lucifer's true vessels.

Michael had expected Raphael to know better than to stoop so low. But then, so much had changed since the times when Raphael was known as the tough-love, head healer of Heaven. They were all different.

Michael drew his brilliant white wings out and with a single flap, flew back to the year of 2010 – 'Apocalypse now' as he had heard Zachariah offhandedly call it at some point. He flew to the center of Heaven, to a place he hadn't visited in a long while. He flew to the Garden, to his Father's throne room.

He nodded in greeting to Joshua, who gave a nod in turn. Michael knew that Sam and Dean had sought the gardener out while they were in Heaven. He also knew that Sam and Dean had gotten a relayed message from God through the angel. _'Back off…' It's more than He's intervened in a long time. He's finished… You won't be able to find Him._

The oldest archangel sat down in the lush grass of Eden, looking up as a slight breeze passed, causing the leaves and grass stalks sway together in motion. He used Adam's arms to keep himself upright, keeping one knee bent and close to himself while he let the other sprawl in the grass.

"He's got a message for you, too, you know."

Michael froze. When he finally registered the words, he slowly turned his head to the gardener, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly does Father have to say after so long?"

His words were bitter and sharp after the thousands of years without a word from Him. And yet Michael found that in that moment he really couldn't care less about his tone. His Father could come Himself to reprimand Michael if He cared that much.

"Save him."

Michael frowned, keeping shock from bleeding into his features. His Father's messages were always cryptic, but Michael knew what He meant. Why would his Father change His mind quite literally as the brothers readied to face each other in the final battle? So late in the game? Michael didn't even know how to _begin_ with the command.

He looked down at one of Adam's hands. Only time would tell.

And not for the first time did Michael recall Cain's words to God when He asked where Abel was. Eight original words, five of relevance, that had repeated themselves over and over Michael's head for the past year. "Am I my brother's keeper?"

**o-O-o**

Michael stood in the middle of the abandoned hotel. Though he remained stoic outwardly, his grace wept at the sight before him.

Gabriel was dead.

There wasn't any mistaking the shockwave from the exploding grace of an archangel. Nor was there mistaking the burned wings imprinted onto the floor.

Michael kneeled down next to his little brother's body, head bowed. None knew what happened to an angel when they died, but Michael could only hope Gabriel found peace with their Father. After years of being thought dead, the youngest truly was now, killed by the hand of a favorited older brother.

"How am I supposed to save him?" Michael whispered.

No one answered.

**o-O-o**

If one knew what they were doing, it wasn't that hard to get around the warding surrounding Bobby Singer's house and Salvage Yard. It only took a few tweaks to the sigils and symbols to let him in. Michael also added a few of his own, not enough to hamper him but they would keep unwanted visitors out.

He was almost surprised that Lucifer hadn't tried to come to the Winchesters' _home base_ , as it was. Then again his brother was probably too arrogant to think that he would need to go to Sam. After all, Sam would go to Lucifer.

At least, that much was obvious from what Michael silently observed. Sam was going to use the four horsemen's rings to lock Lucifer back in his cage. It was Gabriel who had told the human brothers about the keys. Michael had scoffed with a small smile and shook his head at his little brother's parting message.

Gabriel had never liked the fighting. Michael had always been too caught up with his spats with Lucifer to notice just how much it had affected his younger siblings. But it was all too clear now.

Michael was tempted to ignore the buzzing in the back of his mind, calling for his attention. He refrained from growling at its persistence. " _What do you want, Raphael?_ "

" _Where are you?_ " the other archangel demanded. " _No one has seen you in weeks._ "

Michael caught himself from correcting the statement. Raphael didn't need to know that Michael had been doing _other things_ , which may have included his trip to November 2, 1983; the Garden in which Michael had talked to Joshua; what was left of the Elysian Fields hotel; and then here, in Bobby Singer's house.

" _It's none of your concern,_ " Michael responded, keeping his tone in check. He didn't need to tip Raphael off. Let the younger archangel think that Michael was still in mourning, just like those couple centuries after Michael tossed Lucifer into the Cage.

" _You are needed, Michael. You should be leading Heaven, not moping about on some deserted island in the middle of nowhere,_ " Raphael admonished him.

A wave of rage washed over Michael, causing his grace to flare and fluctuate the area's temperature. " _You have no right to be telling me what I am supposed to be doing, Raphael,_ " he growled over the private telepathic line, voice dangerously low.

" _Then do as you are supposed to._ "

Raphael was getting bolder. Michael knew that if the Apocalypse didn't go as planned and if neither Michael nor Lucifer was in the picture, Raphael would take his hand in ruling Heaven. The younger already had many angels converted to follow him, and it was possible that Raphael may have a coup planned.

Michael cut off the line on his end, not wanting to listen to his little brother more than he had to. At times like this, he wished for those old times before… well, before everything went downhill, or however the human saying went.

In the wooden chair he sat on, Michael sighed and let his head drop into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. "What am I supposed to do?"

**o-O-o**

_"Michael?"_

_The older archangel looked over his shoulder to the younger hovering nervously behind him. "What is it, Lucifer?" he asked gently, turning to him._

_"I'm scared," Lucifer admitted quietly, hugging himself with his pure white based wings that were colored with light rainbow pastels. Like millions of pearls intricately scattered amongst dunes of fine, white sand._

_Michael moved forward, shifting his own wings to wrap around them as well as letting his grace touch Lucifer's. "There's nothing to be scared of, little one."_

_Lucifer squirmed before settling into Michael's comforting hold. "Father told me He's going to make more angels. Not like us though."_

_"So we will have more brothers and sisters. I would have thought you'd be excited," Michael murmured into his little brother's ear._

_"But what if Father likes them more than us?"_

_Michael pulled himself back marginally, enough to look into Lucifer's pale blue eyes. "Why would you think that, little one?"_

_Lucifer averted his eyes, avoiding Michael's gaze. "_ She _mentioned it… before we… you know."_

_"Lucifer, what did Father say about listening to her?" Michael lifted Lucifer's head up, bringing those blue eyes back into view. "You shouldn't let her get to you. You have nothing to worry about. I love you, my little Morning Star. You have two little brothers that adore you. And Father loves you most."_

_Michael smiled warmly as Lucifer wrapped his arms around Michael's waist, burying his face into Michael's chest. "Thank you, Michael."_

_Michael leaned down to press a chaste kiss on the top of Lucifer's head. They stayed like that for an immeasurable amount of time. And even though that time had to end when Gabriel and Raphael came running to them, Michael treasured the moment._

_As Lucifer left with Gabriel and Raphael to sort out who got to help make the next star, Michael remained where he was in the Garden and looked upwards to the Sun that their Father had made to represent His presence: constantly there, no matter where He was._

_"Thank you, Father."_

**o-O-o**

Michael hesitated before scowling at himself for the sense of doubt and then knocked on the door. It didn't take long for the owner to open it. "M-Michael..."

"Chuck Shurley," Michael greeted in reply. "May I come in?"

Staring at him with wide eyes, the prophet nodded, stepping aside to let the archangel enough room to pass by into the house. Michael didn't even have to give look at the couch to decide that he was just going to stand. He then noticed the word processor still open on the computer, the words of the events about to happen next sitting innocently on the pages.

Michael glanced at the prophet fidgeting nervously at the room's doorway entrance. "Have I interrupted your writing?"

"Kinda," Chuck answered, looking anywhere but at the archangel.

"My apologies, then, for disturbing your work," Michael said. He didn't move away from the desk's side as Chuck sat down in its chair – only shifted to be looking over the prophet's shoulder.

"So, uh, how are things?" Chuck asked, trying to break the awkward silence in the room. "I-if I get to know that…"

"Things are… well," Michael answered carefully. The prophet would only know what his visions told him, not what Michael or the others were doing – only what was happening with the Winchesters.

"And Adam?"

Michael blinked, not expecting the inquiry. "I sent Adam's soul back to his heaven after I took him as a vessel."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Chuck muttered, earning a subtle frown from Michael.

Nevertheless, the archangel brushed off the comment, continuing to look over Chuck's shoulder at what the prophet was writing. Though the angels could influence what the prophet saw in his visions, it was God's word that he wrote. Michael tilted his head to the side in confusion when Chuck opened up another document, copying and pasting the other work onto the new tab. But Chuck wasn't making a copy, he was going through and adding, removing, _changing_ things. Michael found himself taken aback when he realized exactly what the prophet was doing.

"You're seeing multiple versions of the same event…"

Chuck nodded but then frowned and shrugged. "Technically only two. There's not much difference between them, though— except you of course." Chuck froze right as the words left his mouth. He glanced nervously at Michael as if he expected a volatile reaction.

Instead, Michael merely hummed at the information, mulling over what the two different prophecies could mean. The one that was meant to happen and the one that was happening. Two stories, two paths.

"Save him," he whispered to himself.

Chuck looked up at the archangel hovering next to him. "Huh?"

Michael met the prophet's gaze. "Once, long ago, my Father told me that I would have to kill Lucifer, but I have received a contradicting revelation stating that I should save him," he said. Though, something told him that Chuck already knew that.

"You know…" Chuck started, shifting in his seat. "John told Dean something similar to that about Sam. So it sounds like _He_ is giving you a choice, too…"

"Angels are not meant to make their own choices," Michael recited without pause, the words like acid on his tongue. "We are meant to follow His orders."

Chuck sighed, leaning back in his chair and bringing a hand up to rub his beard. "I don't think you get it."

Michael grit his teeth at the statement. Who was this human to question— Michael stopped that train of thought in its tracks. He'd be a hypocrite for demanding that aloud. He inwardly scoffed at himself as he remembered what he'd been doing for the last month or so… perhaps a little more than that.

"And just what exactly do I not get?" he asked, putting effort into not letting his frustration show.

"You told Dean that free will was an illusion, that everything was already predestined, which is true in a way— but that's not the point," Chuck said, turning to look Michael dead in the eyes. "Free will, the ability to make our own choices, does exist. This—" he pointed at the computer "—proves that.

"You changed something when you talked to Dean on November 2, 1983 and then when you talked to Joshua and when went to Gabriel's body. You cemented that when you started watching Sam and Dean and Bobby at the salvage yard. You went off the path; you made your own decisions; you _are_ exercising your own free will."

Michael took a step away from the desk. He desperately wanted to reject everything the prophet had just said. It hurt too much to think about all that it implied, that it meant. Michael was _made_ to follow the commands of God. He was _the_ Good Son. But at what cost? How many things had he missed?

He had already seen some of what had changed so drastically from the Heaven from _before_. The archangels weren't a family anymore – they were a mess. Gabriel was dead. Raphael, a cold-hearted ghost of what he used to be. Lucifer wasn't any better, and Michael was doubting everything he knew.

If he were human, Michael would have been tempted to blow his brains out. But he wasn't human, and there were other things to consider besides himself. Plus, it would have been selfish to just want it all to end, though Michael could see Gabriel's reasoning for wanting that.

When Michael had finally regained some control over himself, he looked down at his hands, avoiding the prophet's rather unnerving stare. "How do I even… How am I supposed to save him? What if it's too late? What if he doesn't want to be saved?"

Chuck gave him a knowing smile. "You'd be surprised."

**o-O-o**

The cemetery was empty save for the odd crow. The place hadn't been used in years – the grass unkempt along with the gravestones that the plants grew around. The clouds had moved in, casting a dreary and foreboding air to the land they covered from the sun, and the wind swept through the tall grass and kicked up random leaves from the many falls past.

Michael stared at his brother residing within Sam Winchester. The second oldest archangel's grace was still brilliantly shining after so long in the Cage, with the taint the Mark left behind. It felt like forever since they last saw each other, even if they hadn't left off in the best of circumstances.

"It's good to see you, Michael," Lucifer finally said, breaking the silence.

"You too," he responded truthfully. "It's been too long."

"Can you believe it's finally here?"

Michael inwardly cringed at the fact. "No, not really," he said, moving to close some of the gap between him and Lucifer. He took the time to sigh during the pause. "Are you ready?"

Michael noted the way Lucifer seemed to brace himself, readying for what the younger expected to come next. "As I'll ever be… A part of me wishes we didn't have to do this."

_None_ of Michael wanted to do this. "Yeah, me too," he admitted. That was all Lucifer needed to take the bait.

"Then why are we here?" Lucifer questioned, taking a step forward.

"Oh, you know why," Michael responded. He hated what he had to say next. But Raphael was listening in, and this was on the script that Chuck wrote out – well, on one of them anyway. "I have no choice after what you did."

Bristling, Lucifer stopped moving closer. "What I did? What if it's not my fault?"

Michael couldn't help the subtle smile that came and went across his face. Lucifer always had a way with words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it," Lucifer pushed, stalking closer once more to leave only a few feet of distance between them. "Dad made everything. Which means he made me who I am! God _wanted_ the Devil."

Michael looked away as Lucifer spoke the words. He doubted that their Father wanted Lucifer to become _this_. Lucifer was His favorite. It would have – _and probably had_ – broken His heart. He snapped his eyes back to his brother. "So?"

Lucifer was almost pleading with Michael – he could see it in his little brother's eyes. "So why? And why make us fight? I just can't figure out the point."

"What's your point?"

"We're going to kill each other," Lucifer spelled out. "And for what? One of Dad's tests. And we don't even know the answer. We're brothers. Let's just walk off the chessboard."

It wasn't that easy. It couldn't have been. Michael could feel his grace itching to wrap around Lucifer's and murmur reassuring words that he could come home while in their embrace. But Michael couldn't. Raphael was still watching, and Michael didn't have a way to make the other stop without raising suspicions so soon.

"I'm sorry. I- I can't do that. I'm a good son, and I have my orders."

"But you don't have to follow them," Lucifer insisted.

Michael knew that now, though. He didn't have to kill Lucifer, but if push came to shove... "What, you think I'm gonna rebel? Now? I'm not like you."

"Please, Michael—" Lucifer did plea this time.

Michael tried to ignore the stab of guilt from the hurt in Lucifer's voice, cutting the younger off. "You know, you haven't changed a _bit_ , little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me – _all of us_ – and you made our Father leave."

"No one makes Dad do anything. He is doing this to us."

No one could make their Father do anything, and none but their Father made them do anything either. And Father didn't think this was His problem at this point, which meant they could make their own choices.

"He's not here anymore, Lucifer. He's not making us do anything. This mess is on _you_ ," Michael said, taking his dive into the unknown – diverting from the script. "It's on you, and it's on _me_. Which is why I have to do this."

Michael saw the utter confusion plastered on Lucifer's face. "What—?"

Lucifer was cut off by the sound of an engine revving, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala's engine to be precise. Both of the archangels turned to look at the car's entrance, the sound of Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages" playing and echoing about the area.

Dean had certainly taken his time, Michael huffed to himself as he watched his true vessel drive up to them. "Howdy, boys," Dean greeted, having opened the car door to let himself out and stood there leaning on said door. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Michael waited for Dean to say what he would to Lucifer. He knew that Dean was trying to get to Sam. He understood the brotherly love that went between the two. Unfortunately, Michael also knew that Sam wasn't about to be able to take back control of his body with Lucifer firmly at the wheel.

"Dean," he called the hunter's attention. "You shouldn't be here."

Oh, but Dean had _every_ right to be here. Michael could feel Raphael getting blatantly distracted. It was enough for Michael to completely cut off the connection. Raphael was now blind to the events taking place in Stull Cemetery. He wouldn't be getting in the way of Michael's plans anymore, not for a long while anyway.

Dean looked at the oldest archangel. "Adam, if you're in there somewhere. I'm sorry."

Michael shook his head. "Adam isn't home right now." Because Adam was in Heaven.

"Well, then you're next on the list, buttercup," Dean told him, taking Michael's words the wrong way. "But right now, I need five minutes with him."

Michael tilted his head to the side. He flicked a glance at Lucifer, who was watching Michael like a hawk; then shifted his gaze to his right, where Castiel and Bobby stood waiting in ambush; and finally back to Dean. Michael crossed his arms across his chest. "Five minutes… But if Castiel even twitches with the intent of throwing that holy fire at me, no promises."

Said angel froze. Either stunned from being called out or because he didn't want Dean to lose those five minutes, Michael didn't really care. At least he wasn't about to get hit with a holy fire Molotov. It wouldn't kill him, but that shit _hurt_.

Michael turned his focus on Lucifer, pinning him with a glare. "Five minutes," he repeated. Then it would be his turn.

The oldest archangel held the old hunter and fallen angel back from intervening when Lucifer started beating Dean up, tossing him onto the Impala's windshield. Michael had promised five minutes for Dean alone.

And yet as the minute and a half mark passed – Dean getting beaten to a pulp – Michael was tempted to intervene himself. It wouldn't have been that hard. Just teleport the two humans and the fallen angel away—

"Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."

Blinking, Michael refocused on the scene as Lucifer punched Dean in the face twice more. For some reason, Lucifer was getting riled even further by Dean's words.

"I'm not gonna leave you."

Michael tensed as Lucifer drew his fist back for another punch. But then Lucifer hesitated. Michael flew directly behind Lucifer and took hold of Sam's jacket's collar, pulling Lucifer off of Dean.

Michael threw his brother to the ground and summoned his sword. As Michael picked Lucifer back up again, shifting behind him and placing the blade against the other's throat, he knew that Sam had taken back control. The man had gone rigid in Michael's hold.

"Listen to me, Sam," he whispered from behind Sam into his ear, ignoring Castiel and Bobby rushing towards Dean, who had slumped against his car. "I'm not going to lie to you— this is going to hurt. But I need you to do something for me after I let you go: take Dean and Castiel and Bobby, and keep them somewhere _safe_."

Michael could feel the confusion radiating off of Sam, but the younger Winchester carefully nodded. He kept his sword where it was but moved his other hand from where it had been on Sam's chest and placed it over the human's mouth. Michael then shifted his sword to point at Sam's heart, making the human's heart race in a slight moment of fear, but Michael didn't stop there. He moved the blade down.

He stopped it right over where Lucifer's grace coiled and danced in a frenzy of rage and panic. Michael plunged the blade into the human's body and then further to reach Lucifer. Sam's muffled scream pierced the air. The human writhed almost in sync with Lucifer, but Michael kept his grasp firm on both.

When Michael was sure the cut was deep enough, he pulled the blade back out, dropping it in a pocket space where he could summon it back later. It wasn't Sam screaming anymore. Lucifer's true voice was breaking through, the archangel's hands shaking as he tried to grasp at his wound to stop his grace from leaking out.

But Michael wouldn't let him. Instead, Michael accelerated what he wanted to happen. He pulled at Lucifer and his grace, letting it pool on the ground while making sure he didn't go anywhere. Michael teleported the humans and Castiel (and the Impala) far, far away when Lucifer was out of Sam – healing the human as soon as it was done. He hoped they would appreciate him putting them on Bobby's property.

Lucifer, now in his true form, curled in on himself like a cornered animal, practically hissing at Michael in warning to stay away from him. Even though Lucifer was pissed off, his voice still rang with the sound of a symphony, beautiful and magnificent. However, it didn't have the ringing lick of resplendence that Michael usually associated with Lucifer's true voice.

Michael ignored the defensive demand, moving closer to the swirling grace that was Lucifer. Michael hadn't given his brother a fatal injury – just one that would keep the other from going anywhere. He had hindered the use of Lucifer's wings, though Michael had made sure he'd be able to heal the wound later.

He drew Lucifer closer to him. Lucifer had scrambled away from Michael at first, but the offer of comfort that Michael was sending to Lucifer through his own grace was chipping away at Lucifer's resolve. At some point, that resolve broke, and Lucifer let Michael hold him.

Lucifer seemed exhausted in Michael's arms, and he didn't notice when Michael flew them somewhere else. Lucifer didn't notice the vibrant grass beneath them or the fields of flowers that stretched into the lush forests of trees and bushes. He really wouldn't have been able to with the way Michael had moved his wings to encircle them.

"I'm sorry," Michael murmured into his hair.

Lucifer's true form had taken the shape of a body not unlike Sam Winchester's, though Lucifer's eyes were a faintly glowing red and his hair was lighter in color as well as being longer and curled, wavy. Lucifer huffed at Michael, and then curled further in on himself as he had agitated his injury, hissing in pain.

"You're an ass," Lucifer muttered.

"Is that all?" Michael chuckled, stroking a hand through Lucifer's hair.

Lucifer didn't respond immediately, and when he did speak up again, he was hesitant with his words. "So you're not going to kill me?"

"No, Lucifer. I'm not."

Lucifer started to relax into Michael's touch. "But that would be rebelling, wouldn't it?" he asked, frowning.

"Not if Father gave me the choice," Michael answered. "Though I should probably add the condition that you stop the Apocalypse and your plots against humanity."

Lucifer shifted, wincing. "Fine."

"I want your word on that, Lucifer."

Michael didn't have to be looking at Lucifer's face to see that he had rolled his eyes. "I promise to stop any attempts at keeping the Apocalypse going, and I promise not to harm any humans unless provoked by said human and with adequate reasoning for doing the action… Happy?"

Michael answered by pulling Lucifer closer to his chest, burying his face in the curls of light auburn hair. Michael let his grace wrap around Lucifer's, and he felt Lucifer's grace swirl happily at the interaction. Michael's grace lulled Lucifer into a sleep-like state, gradually healing his wound while doing so.

Michael could deal with Raphael later. He could deal with it _all_ – every last matter that needed attending – _later_. For now, he just wanted to sit here with Lucifer resting in his arms while in their Father's Garden. Even if it wasn't everything back to the way it was, Michael was content with this. For he was indeed his brother's keeper, and he wouldn't give this up for anything.

" _Thank you, Father._ "

* * *

_"We are inevitably our brother's keeper because we are our brother's brother. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly."_

—Martin Luther King, Jr.


End file.
